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LOCATION: UNREGISTERED CARGO VESSEL
AREA: NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN
COORDINATES: 48.0000° N | 32.0000° W
DATE: ??? | TIME: ???
Viktor Malenkov woke with a groan. It was a strange thing, waking up in complete darkness. You know your eyes are open, but with the usual visual cues missing, it takes your brain extra time to adjust.
He had begun seeing shapes on the black walls recently. Numbers, symbols. Sometimes faces.
Usually faces of the men and women he'd killed on past assignments. He laughed at them.
"If you think you're going to break me by trying to force me to grow a conscience, we're going to be here for a while."
His captors would sometimes, thankfully, leave the soggy gag off, allowing him to speak aloud. The sound of his own voice in the total silence was a strange thing, too.
But anything to keep his mind occupied until they finally got around to taking some kind of action.
He wished they would start asking him questions. He didn't have any loyalty to anybody. Maybe to Anatoly, but even now he felt his devotion to his uncle slipping.
Maybe they would just kill him. Yes, even that would be a welcome change over the monotony, the silence, and the darkness.
Suddenly, something bright flashed in his vision.
---
System Message
Viktor Malenkov
Welcome to the System.
The System exists to guide, support, and elevate your growth.
Through effort and choice, you will unlock potential far beyond traditional human limitations.
Please prepare for Combat Class Selection.
…
Error…
…
Analyzing…
…
Your actions have forced an intervention.
No Combat Class will be assigned at this time.
Due to your choices, you have now entered:
[Scenario: The Man and the Sea]
No further information will be provided at this time.
---
Viktor laughed aloud.
Just another illusion. Maybe I really am losing my mind…
But then, he felt something new.
The rope restraining his right wrist loosened.
It didn't fall to the floor or anything, but he was sure it had loosened.
He laughed to himself.
"I'm going to get you fuckers now," he muttered as he slowly and carefully unraveled the bindings. Once his right hand was free, it only took a few more minutes to release himself.
He fell to the floor. His arms and legs were stiff, and his back was in bad shape. But Vitalyx was amazing, as he could feel his body recovering to full strength within a half hour.
Once he felt ready, he stood upright. He took careful steps forward, his arms stretched in front of him in the darkness, until he bumped into the wall.
It was a simple task to trace the wall to the right, until his hand landed on the switch. Flipping it on, he let his eyes adjust to the light.
To his right was the door through which his captors had been entering since his arrival on this godforsaken ship. Tentatively, he pressed forward on the door, and he was shocked when it gave way and opened into a hallway.
Viktor looked around. Next to a fire alarm, a glass case housed a fireman's axe. He broke the glass with his elbow. The shattering glass hitting the floor echoed in the tight hallway.
He removed the axe and looked it over.
It was hefty in all the right ways. A solid wooden handle had been polished and shellacked to a smooth finish. The heavy metal axe head appeared sharp, and came to a point on the back end.
It was the first time he felt like he had the upper hand in days. Viktor smiled. It was time to go hunting.
He snuck forward through the hall, clearing each room as he passed by.
He could smell the seawater but the only noise he registered was water slapping up against the hull of the ship.
Viktor inched forward until he came upon a wide staircase leading up to the main deck. He took the stairs one at a time, his axe at the ready.
When his head broke the surface, he was buffeted by the Atlantic winds, but he saw not a soul in sight.
Stacks of containers made for a sort of maze, but the more of the main deck that he explored, the more he was convinced he was alone.
"Where did they go?" he muttered.
Viktor covered the entire length of the deck, bow to stern, before climbing the stairs up onto the bridge deck.
He entered the bridge itself, pulling the glass door open and stepping through.
Wide, panoramic windows stretched across his vision, giving a commanding view of the ocean. Radar screens glowed green, with empty pings showing him that he was in the middle of nowhere.
The room smelled faintly of oil and ozone. The other consoles blinked and hummed silently in front of him.
The logbook lay open, half a sentence unfinished, the ink still dark on the page.
In that moment, he thought it was strange that there was no pen in sight. And what do the words mean?
---
Berg sighted
Evac protocols
---
Suddenly, the radar came alive, and alarms began blaring. The green circular screen showed a huge mass approaching from the forward direction.
Viktor looked out the window, and in the early morning light, the sun glinted off of a massive iceberg.
The crash was bone-rattling, the sound of rending steel that split the morning into two. He fell to the side, crashing into the instrument panel.
He ran outside to assess the damage. They fixed these things after the Titanic, didn't they? A single iceberg shouldn't be able to take out an entire ship of this size.
Right?
As Viktor was leaning over the side to look at the hull, the ship jarred violently.
He lost his footing and tumbled over the side. He didn't even yell out as he fell fifty feet. His body landed on the iceberg, and he was impaled on a large spike that protruded upward, as if it had grown just for the purpose of finally, at long last, putting an end to his misery.
Thank the gods. I can finally rest…
…
…
Viktor Malenkov woke slowly. It was a strange thing, waking up in complete darkness. You know your eyes are open, but with the usual visual cues missing, it takes your brain extra time to adjust.
He had begun seeing shapes on the black walls recently. Numbers, symbols. Sometimes faces.
Usually faces of the men and women he'd killed on past assignments.
"Oh shit…"
---
System Message
You have died.
Your body is restored, but the pain lingers.
This is unlikely to be your last.
---
He groaned as he started to move. His entire torso ached with the pain of being impaled. The pain was nearly unbearable, but in the special forces, you learn to use pain to help focus.
The bindings on his right wrist loosened, and he went through the same motions, freeing himself, opening the door, and grabbing the axe in the hallway.
This time, he didn't bother sneaking. His first course of action was to rush toward the bridge and see if he could change course fast enough to avoid the iceberg.
But when he arrived on the main deck, his plan was shattered.
Viktor was surrounded by enemies.
Each one of them held an axe just like the one he held.
He smiled.
"Bring it on!"
He yelled it as a battle cry as he charged the two men closest to him.
Two hours later, he succumbed to his wounds. Blood soaked the deck. It was splattered on the containers and the walls, and the puddles on the floor rolled freely with the swaying of the ship.
He'd killed 136 men with that axe, before the handle had broken as he blocked a downward swipe from one of his opponents. The swipe landed perfectly in the center of his forehead and split him open like a log being prepared for a bonfire.
…
…
Viktor Malenkov woke slowly. It was a strange thing, waking up in complete darkness. You know your eyes are open, but with the usual visual cues missing, it takes your brain extra time to adjust.
He had begun seeing shapes on the black walls recently. Numbers, symbols. Sometimes faces.
He groaned again.
"Fuck… my head…"
When he tried raising his arm to his head, he noticed the restraints were loosened.